So you’ve noticed that I haven’t been performing as often on The McVie Show as I used to. Blame it on the rain, yeah, yeah (see “When It Rains” episode to get the reference). I’ve been spending most of my free time offline. So that’s what happens when your First Life kicks in; your Second Life suffers. Good for me, bad for my audience. Well, what little audience I still have.
And after I eliminated 3 out of the 5, here comes one more. And he’s from out of town. And he’s just 26 years old. So now it’s a toss up between the 20-somethings. Dios ko. And the Chinese chinito who’s in Indonesia is still there. However, I think it’s going to remain an online relationship; the chances of us meeting in person is slim to none.
So now my time is divided into my work (major time consumer), my three ongoing choices (Mr. Eeeny, Mr. Weeny, and Mr. Miney-Moe) and barely enough time for myself. I haven’t visited F or CB or Bed or Government for two weeks. That’s a record for me, mwhahaha.
But here’s the thing: more and more I’m seriously considering a fourth and fifth options. The fourth choice is to remain single; be footloose and fancy-free, like that Girl Named Georgy. The fifth choice is… well, it’s between me and the three. Because there are so many people out there who are either narrow-minded or who feel that their way is the best way for everyone, or who aren’t courageous and honest enough to know themselves and make up their own minds instead of just accepting what others tell them.
Meanwhile, excuse me while I go get a life. As Stephen King said, life should fuel one’s writing and not the other way around. I’m off to gather more material for The McVie Show.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The End Of Harry
I did it. I finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows last night, or I should say this early morning. I started reading Sunday morning but stopped after lunch because I had to go out of the house. By Monday I was reading during lunch and dinner breaks.
What can I say, without spoilers for a change?
I admit that I was disappointed with Books 5 and 6 because I found JK Rowling’s writing of the action scenes weak; she doesn’t know how to set up a very dense, action-packed scene visually. While I was reading the fight scenes in the Ministry of Magic (book 5) and in Hogwarts (book 6), I had trouble visualizing the place, where the doors were, where the people were located within the venue. But in the last book, it seems JK realized her mistakes. Book 7 starts action-packed and almost never lets up, but this time I could imagine what was happening in my mind.
This book is the most un-Harry Potter of them all: no more Quidditch, no more Hogwarts school scenes, and a whole lot of action and surprises. And deaths, lots of deaths—the book really lives up to its deathly title. For months people were speculating who among the major characters will die. Some were betting on two characters being killed off. Well, a lot of characters are killed, some of which were with us since book one. It was fascinating how the body count piled up; it’s as if JK wanted to make sure no one would think of something similar to the “Gone With The Wind” book sequel being done to her beloved boy wizard.
As always JK manages to pull off eleventh-hour surprises; I think this is her strength as a storyteller. Almost every chapter has a gasp-inducing “What the—?” moment. And the ending was quite satisfying. It’s so easy for JK—or any writer, if in her shoes—to disappoint at the ending. That she was able to pull it off means that she really had it all figured out early on.
So go ahead, plow through the book. It’s really a page-turner, so you might want to reserve a weekend for it.
Bottomline, did I like it? Yes.
What can I say, without spoilers for a change?
I admit that I was disappointed with Books 5 and 6 because I found JK Rowling’s writing of the action scenes weak; she doesn’t know how to set up a very dense, action-packed scene visually. While I was reading the fight scenes in the Ministry of Magic (book 5) and in Hogwarts (book 6), I had trouble visualizing the place, where the doors were, where the people were located within the venue. But in the last book, it seems JK realized her mistakes. Book 7 starts action-packed and almost never lets up, but this time I could imagine what was happening in my mind.
This book is the most un-Harry Potter of them all: no more Quidditch, no more Hogwarts school scenes, and a whole lot of action and surprises. And deaths, lots of deaths—the book really lives up to its deathly title. For months people were speculating who among the major characters will die. Some were betting on two characters being killed off. Well, a lot of characters are killed, some of which were with us since book one. It was fascinating how the body count piled up; it’s as if JK wanted to make sure no one would think of something similar to the “Gone With The Wind” book sequel being done to her beloved boy wizard.
As always JK manages to pull off eleventh-hour surprises; I think this is her strength as a storyteller. Almost every chapter has a gasp-inducing “What the—?” moment. And the ending was quite satisfying. It’s so easy for JK—or any writer, if in her shoes—to disappoint at the ending. That she was able to pull it off means that she really had it all figured out early on.
So go ahead, plow through the book. It’s really a page-turner, so you might want to reserve a weekend for it.
Bottomline, did I like it? Yes.
Troikasters Part Two!
Here’s the second and last part of the podcast with Tony and Corporate Closet. This is even longer, at 46 minutes and 2 seconds, and even more hilarious (well, I was laughing out loud even if I was there and I knew what was said!). Again, it’s available in MGG and also here, in case MGG’s site is too busy.
Listening to parts 1 & 2 of the podcast is very revealing for me. I realize that I know lots of things and have lots of ideas but I just see surface connections. Gibbs is the wisest of the three because not only is his knowledge extensive, he’s also able to integrate the things he knows. Migs, being the youngest of the three, likes to place the things he learns into neat structures for better understanding. Then there’s me, taking in so many things and yet, instead of integrating them, I just toss them up and juggle them in the air. Maybe one day I’ll stop juggling and all the things that I know will come crashing down around me.
Listening to parts 1 & 2 of the podcast is very revealing for me. I realize that I know lots of things and have lots of ideas but I just see surface connections. Gibbs is the wisest of the three because not only is his knowledge extensive, he’s also able to integrate the things he knows. Migs, being the youngest of the three, likes to place the things he learns into neat structures for better understanding. Then there’s me, taking in so many things and yet, instead of integrating them, I just toss them up and juggle them in the air. Maybe one day I’ll stop juggling and all the things that I know will come crashing down around me.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Podcasting Galore!
The Troikasters are sooo baaack! This time we had guests Tony and Corporate Closet talk about long-distance relationships, open relationships and open-for-all carinderias. It was a more-or-less free-for-all discussion, tawanan and kulitan. I hope you guys enjoy listening to it as much as we enjoyed making it.
Because of the high traffic at the MGG site, Migs again allowed us to embed a streaming version of the podcast here in The McVie Show and in Gibb’s blog. So if you encounter technical difficulties at MGG, you know where to turn to.
Meanwhile, here is part one of the Troikasters’ podcast. FYI, it is 39 minutes and 46 seconds long… and if you’re going to listen to it in the office using earphones, be careful not to LOL or ROTFL. You will get weird, worried looks from your officemates.
Because of the high traffic at the MGG site, Migs again allowed us to embed a streaming version of the podcast here in The McVie Show and in Gibb’s blog. So if you encounter technical difficulties at MGG, you know where to turn to.
Meanwhile, here is part one of the Troikasters’ podcast. FYI, it is 39 minutes and 46 seconds long… and if you’re going to listen to it in the office using earphones, be careful not to LOL or ROTFL. You will get weird, worried looks from your officemates.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
At Long Last!
The fourth and final part of The Nelz Chika is now playing! Upon hearing the opening of this latest podcast you will agree that this is an instant “classic,” hehehe. Here we talk about ZsaZsa Ze Movie, bisexuals, married life, the marriage train, Filipino friends, dual identities and a whole lot of “uhms”. As for the ending, I borrowed from the best. I decided to do a variation of the finale of The Sopranos. (If you aren’t familiar with David Chase’s opus, don’t worry. My ending works whether you’ve watched the HBO series’ finale or not.)
So click on the The McChika Show link on the right and enjoy!
So click on the The McChika Show link on the right and enjoy!
Give Gibbs A Review…
…and Gibbs may give you a prize!
(Now say the previous sentence 5 times fast. Ehehehe.)
Seriously now folks: Cinemalaya opens today, and Gibbs Cadiz is inviting friends, bloggers and countrymen to watch the films and make a review. Submit the review to him and the best review will win a prize!
Now how’s that for a win-win-and-possible-win situation, huh? You not only get to watch the works of some of our most promising cinema talents today, but you also get a chance to get a prize. And yours truly is one of the judges. Interested? For more info, click on this link.
(Now say the previous sentence 5 times fast. Ehehehe.)
Seriously now folks: Cinemalaya opens today, and Gibbs Cadiz is inviting friends, bloggers and countrymen to watch the films and make a review. Submit the review to him and the best review will win a prize!
Now how’s that for a win-win-and-possible-win situation, huh? You not only get to watch the works of some of our most promising cinema talents today, but you also get a chance to get a prize. And yours truly is one of the judges. Interested? For more info, click on this link.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Half
It’s rare that I receive a forwarded text joke that makes me laugh out loud but the following did:
* * * * *
Jaime Zobel de Ayala: one-half Pinoy, one-half Spanish
Henry Sy: one-half Pinoy, one-half Chinese
Lito Atienza: one-half Hawaiian, one-half shirt
Mike Arroyo: one-half Pinoy, one-half pork
John Osmeña: one-half Pinoy, one-half-Pinay
Prospero Pichay: one-half Unggoy, one-half Gulay
GMA: one half…
(Thanks to J.A. who forwarded the joke to me.)
* * * * *
Jaime Zobel de Ayala: one-half Pinoy, one-half Spanish
Henry Sy: one-half Pinoy, one-half Chinese
Lito Atienza: one-half Hawaiian, one-half shirt
Mike Arroyo: one-half Pinoy, one-half pork
John Osmeña: one-half Pinoy, one-half-Pinay
Prospero Pichay: one-half Unggoy, one-half Gulay
GMA: one half…
(Thanks to J.A. who forwarded the joke to me.)
Monday, July 16, 2007
McCool Trailer of the Moment
It’s produced by J.J. Abrams (“Star Trek,” “Mission: Impossible III,” “Lost,” “Alias”). So far they’re keeping the title under wraps.
When It Rains
It gets really wet.
* * * * *
All my life no one has ever courted me or really pursued me in a romantic way. So for the longest time I only had me to tell myself that I’m a wonderful guy. It feels different when someone else tells me that.
* * * * *
The last time someone sincerely told me something of a similar sentiment was three years ago. Now I’m getting it from two different guys, and a third one looks like he’s seriously going to enter into the fray. Plus there are two others whom I suspect will want to if only they’re not attached right now.
In the words of Depeche Mode: I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumors but I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor. And when I die, I expect to find Him laughing. Dying is easy, comedy is hard; I like it hard. I suspect when I’m done with the easy part, I’d find Him playing jokes on me even in the afterlife.
Sigh.
Be careful what you stopped wishing for, you just might get more than you bargained for.
* * * * *
To make matters worse: there’s this guy who’s really my type, cute Chinese chinito, smart and creative. I met him early this year and we’ve been in touch on-and-off all this time. I swear it’s like we live parallel lives: he’s also into advertising, albeit in art while I’m in copy; he’s about my height; we share the same zodiac sign; we love the same kinds of movies and TV shows; we have a better-than-average grasp of the English language; and we also looove food—just yesterday he told me he was craving for a donut just as I was biting into one. Of course there are also some snags: we’re both top (not that big a snag, but a snag nonetheless) and we’ve not met each other in person. And he’s in Indonesia. And he’s leaving for Germany within the year. For good. Now that’s a gigantic snag.
Yesterday while we were chatting over YM, he was bemoaning the fact that he did not believe in long-distance relationships (an attitude I also share with him). That night before going to sleep I thought that meeting him seemed like another cosmic taunt: “Nyah! Nyah! Nya-nya-nyah! You’re two peas in a pod who cannot be together!” But I also realized that I have a choice: I can either think of it as an unhappy case of right-guy-but-wrong-country-and-wrong-timing, or I can think of it as an ain’t-I-lucky-I-met-someone-like-you-even-if-only-online kind of situation. And I choose the latter.
* * * * *
The rainy season is now here. Halleluiah. Careful now, it’s slippery when wet.
* * * * *
All my life no one has ever courted me or really pursued me in a romantic way. So for the longest time I only had me to tell myself that I’m a wonderful guy. It feels different when someone else tells me that.
* * * * *
The last time someone sincerely told me something of a similar sentiment was three years ago. Now I’m getting it from two different guys, and a third one looks like he’s seriously going to enter into the fray. Plus there are two others whom I suspect will want to if only they’re not attached right now.
In the words of Depeche Mode: I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumors but I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor. And when I die, I expect to find Him laughing. Dying is easy, comedy is hard; I like it hard. I suspect when I’m done with the easy part, I’d find Him playing jokes on me even in the afterlife.
Sigh.
Be careful what you stopped wishing for, you just might get more than you bargained for.
* * * * *
To make matters worse: there’s this guy who’s really my type, cute Chinese chinito, smart and creative. I met him early this year and we’ve been in touch on-and-off all this time. I swear it’s like we live parallel lives: he’s also into advertising, albeit in art while I’m in copy; he’s about my height; we share the same zodiac sign; we love the same kinds of movies and TV shows; we have a better-than-average grasp of the English language; and we also looove food—just yesterday he told me he was craving for a donut just as I was biting into one. Of course there are also some snags: we’re both top (not that big a snag, but a snag nonetheless) and we’ve not met each other in person. And he’s in Indonesia. And he’s leaving for Germany within the year. For good. Now that’s a gigantic snag.
Yesterday while we were chatting over YM, he was bemoaning the fact that he did not believe in long-distance relationships (an attitude I also share with him). That night before going to sleep I thought that meeting him seemed like another cosmic taunt: “Nyah! Nyah! Nya-nya-nyah! You’re two peas in a pod who cannot be together!” But I also realized that I have a choice: I can either think of it as an unhappy case of right-guy-but-wrong-country-and-wrong-timing, or I can think of it as an ain’t-I-lucky-I-met-someone-like-you-even-if-only-online kind of situation. And I choose the latter.
* * * * *
The rainy season is now here. Halleluiah. Careful now, it’s slippery when wet.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Nasusian Na Naman Ako
Danced for about an hour straight. (Funny I should use the word “straight” when talking about events in Bed.) Kept pinching birthday boy because his crush wants to take him from behind, hahaha. My Friday the 13th is going to be zombie-like.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I Think I Need A Haircut
In my spotty track record of a so-called love life (which is different from my sex life but let me not digress further), I’m usually the one who is attracted to the other guy and spends the rest of the time pining for him. It’s rare that I meet someone who is attracted to me. It’s rarer still that I meet someone who is attracted to me and I find him attractive too. The rarest of them all is someone who is attracted to me, he’s attractive to me, and is single to boot.
Recently I met a guy who said he has a crush on me, I find him objectively good-looking (Leigh even said, “Not bad!!!!!” complete with five exclamation marks), and is single. Plus he’s only 21 years old. He had me “rise” to the occasion thrice in one night, and he got off a fourth time with a little help from my tongue and fingers. Man, the advantages of youth.
Is he smart? He finished English Literature, and is now studying to become a nurse. Maybe that’s not the smartest of moves, but the least one can say is that he’s studious. Did we have things to talk about? Well, I’ve asked him to tell me about his ex, his family, and his studies. He didn’t hesitate to tell me what he wanted me to do to him in bed, plus he knew how to give wonderful feedback—two communication skills that don’t need a diploma in English literature.
We said we’d see each other again. This is a nice change of pace.
Hu-well, hu-well, hu-well!
Careful now. Make sure you don’t step on my split ends.
Recently I met a guy who said he has a crush on me, I find him objectively good-looking (Leigh even said, “Not bad!!!!!” complete with five exclamation marks), and is single. Plus he’s only 21 years old. He had me “rise” to the occasion thrice in one night, and he got off a fourth time with a little help from my tongue and fingers. Man, the advantages of youth.
Is he smart? He finished English Literature, and is now studying to become a nurse. Maybe that’s not the smartest of moves, but the least one can say is that he’s studious. Did we have things to talk about? Well, I’ve asked him to tell me about his ex, his family, and his studies. He didn’t hesitate to tell me what he wanted me to do to him in bed, plus he knew how to give wonderful feedback—two communication skills that don’t need a diploma in English literature.
We said we’d see each other again. This is a nice change of pace.
Hu-well, hu-well, hu-well!
Careful now. Make sure you don’t step on my split ends.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
More Than Meets The Ear
Our office has been Transformed! Most of us here sport Transformed cellphones.
If you call me, my cellphone will utter this ringtone:
If you send me an SMS, my cellphone will alert me with:
I swear, the Transformers are so cool.
If you call me, my cellphone will utter this ringtone:
If you send me an SMS, my cellphone will alert me with:
I swear, the Transformers are so cool.
A Rare Rant
There’s an AE in the office who I particularly don’t like. Normally I’m quite friendly to almost all of my co-workers. But when she approaches me I already feel one of my eyebrows rising. And of all the AEs in the office she’s the one I snap at most often.
After one particularly irritating exchange with her, I stopped and asked myself why I don’t like her. And my conclusion was this: I especially hate it when complete strangers come up to me and start acting as if we’re close and chummy with one another. It’s one thing for you to be cordial and friendly; it’s another if you start giving me backrubs while you’re briefing me with your first job order! Ano tayo, CLOSE?
I prefer a respectful distance when dealing with me. And I choose whom I allow to get closer to me. With some folks the connection is effortless; after the first ten minutes we’re chatting as if we’ve known each other for years. With others the connection takes time.
I’m a person who keeps people at bay. It’s a form of control I exert as a means of self-protection. On the personal front I realize that’s one of the reasons why I’m still single, and I’ve taken steps to allow myself some risks.
But on a professional setting, keeping people at bay helps me keep things neutral and on a professional level. Don’t ever make the mistake of making the professional personal.
And never, never assume that I even like you. Eh girl ka pa. Heller.
After one particularly irritating exchange with her, I stopped and asked myself why I don’t like her. And my conclusion was this: I especially hate it when complete strangers come up to me and start acting as if we’re close and chummy with one another. It’s one thing for you to be cordial and friendly; it’s another if you start giving me backrubs while you’re briefing me with your first job order! Ano tayo, CLOSE?
I prefer a respectful distance when dealing with me. And I choose whom I allow to get closer to me. With some folks the connection is effortless; after the first ten minutes we’re chatting as if we’ve known each other for years. With others the connection takes time.
I’m a person who keeps people at bay. It’s a form of control I exert as a means of self-protection. On the personal front I realize that’s one of the reasons why I’m still single, and I’ve taken steps to allow myself some risks.
But on a professional setting, keeping people at bay helps me keep things neutral and on a professional level. Don’t ever make the mistake of making the professional personal.
And never, never assume that I even like you. Eh girl ka pa. Heller.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
D’oh! It’s McSimpson!
So this is what I’ll look like if I guested in The Simpsons. .jpg)
Wanna create your Simpsons character? Log on to “The Simpsons Movie” website and click on “Create Your Simpsons Avatar.”
(P.S. – Leigh says that in the movie title, the word “movie” with the bitten “o” looks like, at a quick glance, “The Simpsons McVie”! Hmmm.)
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Wanna create your Simpsons character? Log on to “The Simpsons Movie” website and click on “Create Your Simpsons Avatar.” (P.S. – Leigh says that in the movie title, the word “movie” with the bitten “o” looks like, at a quick glance, “The Simpsons McVie”! Hmmm.)
Monday, July 09, 2007
Work Hard, Die Hard
If Life is the wellspring of writing, then no wonder I’ve been dry this past week. I had no freakin’ life! Argh. Last week was all about work and functioning at low-batt.
The whole week I was sick with a bad case of the flu but I didn’t have the luxury of taking a sick leave because of a couple of deadlines. Monday I knew I was in trouble because my throat was already itchy, but I could still function. Tuesday my throat condition worsened; I was sniffing and coughing the whole day; still I could function. Wednesday I felt feverish on top of everything; that was the warning signal. So Thursday I took the morning off because on Saturday I was scheduled to host a wedding reception. Friday the itchy throat disappeared, thanks to a couple of days of NyQuil-induced sleep and lots and lots of water and orange juice. Saturday I pulled off the hosting gig, though I wasn’t at the top of my game.
* * * * *
So Sunday I decided to get a life. How? I watched Die Hard 4.0.
I loved the first movie, especially because the set-up was brilliant and very focused—everything happens in one building. And Alan Rickman is one of the best, most memorable villains in movie history. The second was a step down. It was more of the same—a singular location (in an airport), but, but, BUT the villain was a lousy nobody. The third had Samuel Jackson, but his presence didn’t help add sass and pizzazz. Worse, they totally squandered the talents of Jeremy Irons as the villain; he had twice the brand name and star power of Rickman but half the latter’s wit and devious menace.
When they announced 4.0 with cutey-pie Justin Long (“Hi, I’m a Mac!”), I wanted to give this franchise a chance. And so I did.
The movie turned out to be PC. And I don’t mean politically correct. It was full of crashes and lots of hanging too, just like a PC. Sometime during the third time Bruce Willis’ aging John McClaine fell/flew/crashed/smashed into something then stood up a few seconds later with no broken bones (what kind of calcium is he taking?!), my mind gave up suspending its disbelief and told me, “I refuse to believe all this.” C’mon guys! John McClaine could whup Optimus Prime and Megatron and still get up with a few scratches, some blood cinematically smeared, and a smirk on his face.
My main problem with this movie is that it took itself too seriously. The main premise (really now, are we that interconnectedly wired?) and the action sequences are so out-of-this-world unbelievable, they make Transformers look like a reality show. Yes folks, I actually believed in Vehicles-That-Turn-Into-Robots more than Mr. Yipee-kay-yay Motherfucker. That’s because the former movie had enough wit to wink at the audience and say, “C’mon, alien robots? Just hang on for the ride.”
Plus 4.0 wants us to believe in its characters by putting committee-scripted stuff to Make The Characters Sympathetic (of all the characters, it was McClaine’s daughter who I found most real). Oh, and puhleez spare me the “one man can make a difference” and “that’s what makes you that man” platitudes. “More than meets the eye” was pulled off way, waaay cooler than that.
What made McClaine endearing in the first movie is that he was an ordinary man who did ordinary stuff that put a damper on the extraordinary plans of the villains. In the latest installment he became Rambo 4.0, a throwback to 80s excesses that really should remain firmly in that decade. Die Hard 4.0 works so hard, but in the end it never felt like a summer movie at the top of its game.
The whole week I was sick with a bad case of the flu but I didn’t have the luxury of taking a sick leave because of a couple of deadlines. Monday I knew I was in trouble because my throat was already itchy, but I could still function. Tuesday my throat condition worsened; I was sniffing and coughing the whole day; still I could function. Wednesday I felt feverish on top of everything; that was the warning signal. So Thursday I took the morning off because on Saturday I was scheduled to host a wedding reception. Friday the itchy throat disappeared, thanks to a couple of days of NyQuil-induced sleep and lots and lots of water and orange juice. Saturday I pulled off the hosting gig, though I wasn’t at the top of my game.
* * * * *
So Sunday I decided to get a life. How? I watched Die Hard 4.0.
I loved the first movie, especially because the set-up was brilliant and very focused—everything happens in one building. And Alan Rickman is one of the best, most memorable villains in movie history. The second was a step down. It was more of the same—a singular location (in an airport), but, but, BUT the villain was a lousy nobody. The third had Samuel Jackson, but his presence didn’t help add sass and pizzazz. Worse, they totally squandered the talents of Jeremy Irons as the villain; he had twice the brand name and star power of Rickman but half the latter’s wit and devious menace.
When they announced 4.0 with cutey-pie Justin Long (“Hi, I’m a Mac!”), I wanted to give this franchise a chance. And so I did.
The movie turned out to be PC. And I don’t mean politically correct. It was full of crashes and lots of hanging too, just like a PC. Sometime during the third time Bruce Willis’ aging John McClaine fell/flew/crashed/smashed into something then stood up a few seconds later with no broken bones (what kind of calcium is he taking?!), my mind gave up suspending its disbelief and told me, “I refuse to believe all this.” C’mon guys! John McClaine could whup Optimus Prime and Megatron and still get up with a few scratches, some blood cinematically smeared, and a smirk on his face.
My main problem with this movie is that it took itself too seriously. The main premise (really now, are we that interconnectedly wired?) and the action sequences are so out-of-this-world unbelievable, they make Transformers look like a reality show. Yes folks, I actually believed in Vehicles-That-Turn-Into-Robots more than Mr. Yipee-kay-yay Motherfucker. That’s because the former movie had enough wit to wink at the audience and say, “C’mon, alien robots? Just hang on for the ride.”
Plus 4.0 wants us to believe in its characters by putting committee-scripted stuff to Make The Characters Sympathetic (of all the characters, it was McClaine’s daughter who I found most real). Oh, and puhleez spare me the “one man can make a difference” and “that’s what makes you that man” platitudes. “More than meets the eye” was pulled off way, waaay cooler than that.
What made McClaine endearing in the first movie is that he was an ordinary man who did ordinary stuff that put a damper on the extraordinary plans of the villains. In the latest installment he became Rambo 4.0, a throwback to 80s excesses that really should remain firmly in that decade. Die Hard 4.0 works so hard, but in the end it never felt like a summer movie at the top of its game.
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Presenting “TransGenders: More Than Meets The Eyeliner”
The KemBots, a new breed of sentient machines tasked with just one mission: to propagate beauty and sass throughout the universe!
The KuluBots, their mortal enemy, who are out to spread stress, worry and wrinkles to all sentient creatures who need at least SPF-15 level of protection.
The BeBots, a friendly ally to the KemBots, these sentient machines are also know as “fag hags.”
The Bi-Bots, a group of sentient machines that have their wires crossed somewhat; they swing from KemBot to KuluBot depending on the situation. In other words, palyado.
The CallBots, a breed of machines designed to entice the KemBots to ride them—for a fee. They are led by MegaDaks, a ten-wheeler notorious for filling up the whole length of Dakota-Harrison streets with the length of his, uhm, exhaust pipe. (After you go through his pipe—or his pipe goes through you—you’ll understand why it’s “exhausting.”)
The Vi-and-Bots, old-timer machines who remember the time when transistors were used, tubes powered television sets, and Vilma Santos and Edgar Mortiz were a love-team instead of a governor with a lot of beef and an executive producer of Goin’ Bulilit.
The Motocross Dressers, a specialized form of two-wheeled machines that transform into big sexy robots with huge hooters and a penchant for lip-synching. Currently they have the soundtrack of “Dreamgirls” on heavy rotation in their CD/MP3 players.
The Emoticons, they’re not really machines. They’re small pieces “of specialized ASCII art (usually two to five characters, always on a single line) used in text messages as informal markup to indicate emotions and attitudes that would be conveyed by body language in face-to-face communications. They are intended to be relatively simple to type, easy to recognize, and most commonly represent stylized facial expressions.” (from Wikipedia)
The Revicons, they’re multi-vitamins. (Product placement! Just like in the movie!)
* * * * *
Lecheng internet connection sa office namin! Since Monday pa siya down. Sana okey na siya today.
The KuluBots, their mortal enemy, who are out to spread stress, worry and wrinkles to all sentient creatures who need at least SPF-15 level of protection.
The BeBots, a friendly ally to the KemBots, these sentient machines are also know as “fag hags.”
The Bi-Bots, a group of sentient machines that have their wires crossed somewhat; they swing from KemBot to KuluBot depending on the situation. In other words, palyado.
The CallBots, a breed of machines designed to entice the KemBots to ride them—for a fee. They are led by MegaDaks, a ten-wheeler notorious for filling up the whole length of Dakota-Harrison streets with the length of his, uhm, exhaust pipe. (After you go through his pipe—or his pipe goes through you—you’ll understand why it’s “exhausting.”)
The Vi-and-Bots, old-timer machines who remember the time when transistors were used, tubes powered television sets, and Vilma Santos and Edgar Mortiz were a love-team instead of a governor with a lot of beef and an executive producer of Goin’ Bulilit.
The Motocross Dressers, a specialized form of two-wheeled machines that transform into big sexy robots with huge hooters and a penchant for lip-synching. Currently they have the soundtrack of “Dreamgirls” on heavy rotation in their CD/MP3 players.
The Emoticons, they’re not really machines. They’re small pieces “of specialized ASCII art (usually two to five characters, always on a single line) used in text messages as informal markup to indicate emotions and attitudes that would be conveyed by body language in face-to-face communications. They are intended to be relatively simple to type, easy to recognize, and most commonly represent stylized facial expressions.” (from Wikipedia)
The Revicons, they’re multi-vitamins. (Product placement! Just like in the movie!)
* * * * *
Lecheng internet connection sa office namin! Since Monday pa siya down. Sana okey na siya today.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Pride, Take 2
It was fascinating listening to Dan (of the fantabulous The Dan & Rye Show Podcast) explain the difference between the White Party held last weekend and the Pride March, which is now held during December. I think a lot of gay men—me included—mistook the White Party to be part of the activities to push for gay rights and anti-discrimination laws. Most of the confusion happens because the White Party coincides with worldwide celebrations of the anniversary of Stonewall. Thank you Dan & Rye for the clarification.
I guess it’s not asking too much to conclude that, since June is the anniversary of Stonewall, a lot of gay men naturally assumed that the White Party could stand for something more than just a themed party. Come to think of it, why couldn’t it? Then you have to ask the White Party organizers if they want it to stand for something more. But if they choose to keep it as just a party, please don’t take it against them and to those who attended the event.
As far as I’m concerned any public gathering, whether to protest or to celebrate gay interests, any public display of kabaklaan is welcome. In a time where discrimination occurs even amongst gay folks, let us embrace events that will allow us to embrace each other and show some solidarity. And have any excuse to party, party, PARTY!
* * * * *
Tolerance, n, endurance of, or permitting liberty to, uncongenial persons, or opinions differing from one’s own; tolerate, to endure; to allow by not hindering.
Accept, vt, to receive, especially willingly; to approve; to agree to; to believe in; to treat as welcome; acceptance, n, approval; assent
In an ideal world who wouldn’t want to be accepted? But given the realities of today, it’s more likely that gay folks in the Philippines are merely tolerated than accepted. One will more likely hear the statement “Hindi natin ginusto ang kabaklaan ng anak natin, pero nandadiyan na yan” than “Salamat sa Diyos! Bakla ang anak natin! Yan pa naman ang pinangarap ko n’ung buntis ako!”
I’d have to agree with Rye that with real tolerance one should be able to live the lives we want to lead. That is, if we have real tolerance. The sad side of tolerance is that it allows for people to take on a condescending attitude towards the ones they’re tolerating. “Oh, let’s just tolerate them, dear, after all, they’re condemned to go to hell anyway. So let them go on their merry damned way.” Condescension presupposes that one is in a better or superior position than the other. Which is well and good if we’re talking about talents or skills; but if it’s about sexual preference, why should hetero be better than homo and vice versa?
I guess I’m more wary of condescension more than tolerance. Which is why I’d rather bat for acceptance than just tolerance.
Is acceptance too much to ask? Oh yes. It is very difficult to be all embracing. You might even have to end up as wrinkled as Mother Teresa to be so accepting as she was.
Well, we can dream can’t we?
I guess it’s not asking too much to conclude that, since June is the anniversary of Stonewall, a lot of gay men naturally assumed that the White Party could stand for something more than just a themed party. Come to think of it, why couldn’t it? Then you have to ask the White Party organizers if they want it to stand for something more. But if they choose to keep it as just a party, please don’t take it against them and to those who attended the event.
As far as I’m concerned any public gathering, whether to protest or to celebrate gay interests, any public display of kabaklaan is welcome. In a time where discrimination occurs even amongst gay folks, let us embrace events that will allow us to embrace each other and show some solidarity. And have any excuse to party, party, PARTY!
* * * * *
Tolerance, n, endurance of, or permitting liberty to, uncongenial persons, or opinions differing from one’s own; tolerate, to endure; to allow by not hindering.
Accept, vt, to receive, especially willingly; to approve; to agree to; to believe in; to treat as welcome; acceptance, n, approval; assent
In an ideal world who wouldn’t want to be accepted? But given the realities of today, it’s more likely that gay folks in the Philippines are merely tolerated than accepted. One will more likely hear the statement “Hindi natin ginusto ang kabaklaan ng anak natin, pero nandadiyan na yan” than “Salamat sa Diyos! Bakla ang anak natin! Yan pa naman ang pinangarap ko n’ung buntis ako!”
I’d have to agree with Rye that with real tolerance one should be able to live the lives we want to lead. That is, if we have real tolerance. The sad side of tolerance is that it allows for people to take on a condescending attitude towards the ones they’re tolerating. “Oh, let’s just tolerate them, dear, after all, they’re condemned to go to hell anyway. So let them go on their merry damned way.” Condescension presupposes that one is in a better or superior position than the other. Which is well and good if we’re talking about talents or skills; but if it’s about sexual preference, why should hetero be better than homo and vice versa?
I guess I’m more wary of condescension more than tolerance. Which is why I’d rather bat for acceptance than just tolerance.
Is acceptance too much to ask? Oh yes. It is very difficult to be all embracing. You might even have to end up as wrinkled as Mother Teresa to be so accepting as she was.
Well, we can dream can’t we?
Monday, July 02, 2007
Proud ‘Bots
Gay Pride weekend once again: I think when they stopped holding the gay parade that’s when Gay Pride lost much of its political and social agenda. Instead it turned into one big excuse to party. Not that there’s anything wrong with a party—heck, most gays will party at any excuse. And personally, if Pride weekend morphs into an excuse to be publicly Out and about, then there’s value in that too. In fact, if the general public treats it as in the same league as the Oktoberfest, then for me it’s a triumph of sorts. That is, celebrating gay-dom does not raise eyebrows anymore.
Of course the danger there is that instead of acceptance, it’s merely tolerated. Or worse, there’s just plain indifference. We may have the freedom to celebrate, but what about rights and the protection from discrimination?
Therefore, let us be both vigilant and vivacious.
* * * * *
The Pride event was to start at 9pm, which in gaytime means “nearly midnight” but I decided to come early (which in my time means “almost 10”) to avoid the crowd. True enough, when I got to Orosa Street there were plenty of people but not enough to be a crowd. The air was so humid and sticky that I was sweating in seconds. Not good. So I retreated to the cool and dry interior of Bed. Good move. After a few minutes and one bottle of SanMig Lite, Doc Tony reported that it started raining outside. Not that it would stop the Sangkabadingan from partying; if anything, water makes us multiply in numbers. Besides water never stopped a show of skimpy-clad men and female impersonators from pushing through.
And so in Bed I stayed, drinking, dancing and once in a while disturbing DJ Brian Cua from his task by suggesting that he play David Pomeranz (it’s an inside joke—the next time you see Brian ask him, “How’s David?” and then run for your life).
After a while I saw people I know: Phillip, Beau, katukayo Joel, and Ricci Chan. They were either with friends or with their partner.
Then they stopped the music for some contest: the Bed Bodies. Seven guys strutted on stage. The side comments flew fast and furious:
Announcer: “These gorgeous bisexual men….”
Us: “Hu-whaaat?! ‘Bisexual’? Owws?!”
Me: “Maybe you can buy them sexually!”
Ricci: (to the contestants) “Sige nga! Prove to us you’re bisexual!”
Announcer: “He’s 19 years old….”
Crowd hoots in disbelief.
Ricci: “He’s 19 years old… in the business!”
Announcer: “He stands at 5 feet 9 inches….”
Ricci: “His don’t look like 9 inches to me, dahlin’!”
Haaay, such bitchy-funny folks. :-)
* * * * *
At 3am I had a sudden and overwhelming urge to just up and leave. The party was in full swing. Phillip was on his way to Drunklandia, Beau was dancing the night away, Ricci was holding hands with his partner, and I was dancing on the ledge when it hit me: no one invited me to go to the Pride Party. People asked me, “Are you going?” but no one actually said, “Hey, join me/us at the Pride Party!”
Don’t I have friends?
Most of friends my age already shun the crowds at Malate, preferring a more sedentary scene like strolling around Serendra. My younger friends from TA and others—while a lot of them gay—aren’t into the bar scene. My industry friends are too busy, too old or too straight to come. As for the others, well, they were there already with friends.
So am I not the “to be invited” type, I wondered. Am I too distant? Too independent? Too single? Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? Am I out of here?
And that’s when I got out of there. It doesn’t help one’s pride if one starts asking those questions while in the middle of a bitchin’ hot Gay Pride party.
Besides I had a great excuse to go home early.
* * * * *
From transformers in Malate to Transformers in Pasig:
The next morning I woke up bright and early. My brother and I were watching—ka-ching!—Transformers! We headed to Shangri-la Mall and got ourselves two tickets for the Premiere Theater. At Php250 you get reclining seats and snacks—soda and your choice of a hotdog sandwich or a bucket of popcorn. I just preferred the screening time of 12:30pm. If we chose another screening time we’d either be rushing to eat our lunch—I so hate rushing anything on a Sunday—or we’d wait a long time for the next screening. I decided to treat my younger bro to the movie.
The 250 peso tickets were sooo worth it!
I was never a fan of the original cartoon series, though I was aware of Optimus Prime, the Autobots, Megatron and the Decepticons. But this movie brought out the little kid and the butch side of me. Michael Bay was an excellent choice as director. He kept the camera constantly moving especially during transformations, so that your eyes are “fooled” into believing the complex transformation that was happening. And there was this one shot that I’ve always wanted to see mounted onscreen but never witnessed it until now: the scene where Megatron and Optimus crashed into a building and the camera tracked their movement as they plowed through the building. Bitchin’ coolness! I swear, that’s what my high school teacher of film appreciation called the kinetic power of cinema—my pulse literally quickened as I watched that jaw-dropping money shot. Talk about movie orgasm!
The final battle was, I thought, a little too “small” in scale, considering that the US military is deeply involved in this. I was expecting more planes, more helicopters, more troops! And the Spielbergian manipulative tactic of throwing sympathy for the alien—troops subdue and capture alien, lead kid cries, “Don’t! You’re hurting him!” and the barbaric examination of the alien by human scientists—is still there. Hey, it worked for E.T., right? Still, the movie is pure popcorn so such quibbles are easy to shrug off. This movie wisely never takes itself too seriously (with lines like “What a lame line! ‘More than meets the eye’?!” and “Honey, we’ve got a small transformer problem!”), so why should we?
At first the Decepticons attacking at random made the movie feel like an “aliens invasion” type of movie. And when the Autobots reveal themselves, there’s this “awkward boy-meets-alien” vibe that Spielberg practically invented that propels the movie. But once the Autobots develop “characters” and the Decepticons reveal themselves, the movie goes into full action movie overload. While sometimes the action is so frenetic that I lose sense of direction (“Where are they now? What just happened?”), it’s still a visual kinetic feast.
Now I wish Orlando could turn into a robot.
Of course the danger there is that instead of acceptance, it’s merely tolerated. Or worse, there’s just plain indifference. We may have the freedom to celebrate, but what about rights and the protection from discrimination?
Therefore, let us be both vigilant and vivacious.
* * * * *
The Pride event was to start at 9pm, which in gaytime means “nearly midnight” but I decided to come early (which in my time means “almost 10”) to avoid the crowd. True enough, when I got to Orosa Street there were plenty of people but not enough to be a crowd. The air was so humid and sticky that I was sweating in seconds. Not good. So I retreated to the cool and dry interior of Bed. Good move. After a few minutes and one bottle of SanMig Lite, Doc Tony reported that it started raining outside. Not that it would stop the Sangkabadingan from partying; if anything, water makes us multiply in numbers. Besides water never stopped a show of skimpy-clad men and female impersonators from pushing through.
And so in Bed I stayed, drinking, dancing and once in a while disturbing DJ Brian Cua from his task by suggesting that he play David Pomeranz (it’s an inside joke—the next time you see Brian ask him, “How’s David?” and then run for your life).
After a while I saw people I know: Phillip, Beau, katukayo Joel, and Ricci Chan. They were either with friends or with their partner.
Then they stopped the music for some contest: the Bed Bodies. Seven guys strutted on stage. The side comments flew fast and furious:
Announcer: “These gorgeous bisexual men….”
Us: “Hu-whaaat?! ‘Bisexual’? Owws?!”
Me: “Maybe you can buy them sexually!”
Ricci: (to the contestants) “Sige nga! Prove to us you’re bisexual!”
Announcer: “He’s 19 years old….”
Crowd hoots in disbelief.
Ricci: “He’s 19 years old… in the business!”
Announcer: “He stands at 5 feet 9 inches….”
Ricci: “His don’t look like 9 inches to me, dahlin’!”
Haaay, such bitchy-funny folks. :-)
* * * * *
At 3am I had a sudden and overwhelming urge to just up and leave. The party was in full swing. Phillip was on his way to Drunklandia, Beau was dancing the night away, Ricci was holding hands with his partner, and I was dancing on the ledge when it hit me: no one invited me to go to the Pride Party. People asked me, “Are you going?” but no one actually said, “Hey, join me/us at the Pride Party!”
Don’t I have friends?
Most of friends my age already shun the crowds at Malate, preferring a more sedentary scene like strolling around Serendra. My younger friends from TA and others—while a lot of them gay—aren’t into the bar scene. My industry friends are too busy, too old or too straight to come. As for the others, well, they were there already with friends.
So am I not the “to be invited” type, I wondered. Am I too distant? Too independent? Too single? Am I making a mountain out of a molehill? Am I out of here?
And that’s when I got out of there. It doesn’t help one’s pride if one starts asking those questions while in the middle of a bitchin’ hot Gay Pride party.
Besides I had a great excuse to go home early.
* * * * *
From transformers in Malate to Transformers in Pasig:
The next morning I woke up bright and early. My brother and I were watching—ka-ching!—Transformers! We headed to Shangri-la Mall and got ourselves two tickets for the Premiere Theater. At Php250 you get reclining seats and snacks—soda and your choice of a hotdog sandwich or a bucket of popcorn. I just preferred the screening time of 12:30pm. If we chose another screening time we’d either be rushing to eat our lunch—I so hate rushing anything on a Sunday—or we’d wait a long time for the next screening. I decided to treat my younger bro to the movie.
The 250 peso tickets were sooo worth it!
I was never a fan of the original cartoon series, though I was aware of Optimus Prime, the Autobots, Megatron and the Decepticons. But this movie brought out the little kid and the butch side of me. Michael Bay was an excellent choice as director. He kept the camera constantly moving especially during transformations, so that your eyes are “fooled” into believing the complex transformation that was happening. And there was this one shot that I’ve always wanted to see mounted onscreen but never witnessed it until now: the scene where Megatron and Optimus crashed into a building and the camera tracked their movement as they plowed through the building. Bitchin’ coolness! I swear, that’s what my high school teacher of film appreciation called the kinetic power of cinema—my pulse literally quickened as I watched that jaw-dropping money shot. Talk about movie orgasm!
The final battle was, I thought, a little too “small” in scale, considering that the US military is deeply involved in this. I was expecting more planes, more helicopters, more troops! And the Spielbergian manipulative tactic of throwing sympathy for the alien—troops subdue and capture alien, lead kid cries, “Don’t! You’re hurting him!” and the barbaric examination of the alien by human scientists—is still there. Hey, it worked for E.T., right? Still, the movie is pure popcorn so such quibbles are easy to shrug off. This movie wisely never takes itself too seriously (with lines like “What a lame line! ‘More than meets the eye’?!” and “Honey, we’ve got a small transformer problem!”), so why should we?
At first the Decepticons attacking at random made the movie feel like an “aliens invasion” type of movie. And when the Autobots reveal themselves, there’s this “awkward boy-meets-alien” vibe that Spielberg practically invented that propels the movie. But once the Autobots develop “characters” and the Decepticons reveal themselves, the movie goes into full action movie overload. While sometimes the action is so frenetic that I lose sense of direction (“Where are they now? What just happened?”), it’s still a visual kinetic feast.
Now I wish Orlando could turn into a robot.
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